Miles Away
by inmyeyes
Summary: RT: The one thing he wants is the one thing that's furthest from his grasp. (One-shot)


A.N: This was written on a whim, after I finished reading some poetry. So... um, be kind. :-) 

**Miles Away**   
by inmyeyes 

  
  
  


He loved the beauty of the night sky, glittering with the shining light from the stars above. He savoured the feeling of insignificance he derived from sitting all alone in his large garden, lying down on the soft grass and breathing in the cool night air. He welcomed that feeling - the feeling that there was much much more to the world. It was a welcome relief especially after all the adulation that was bestowed on him at Chilton. Here, as the wind ruffled his hair and the stars twinkled just for him, he felt free... he felt like himself. 

But something nagged at him. 

Turning over onto his stomach, he reached for the leather bound book he had placed beside him. Uncapping the blue pen he brought and with the help of the light streaming from the open door of the kitchen, he furiously scribbled down the thought that was flying through his mind.   
  
  
  


_I want you and you are not here._

  
  
  


He almost groaned aloud when he read through the line. He shook his head wryly. '_It figures that she had to come to my mind._' He had been trying not to think of her; after all that had happened, it was clear that any chance that he had ever had with her, if any, was gone. It was no use to harbour any hope, so he resolved to forget about her. But the more he tried, the more she popped up in his mind. It was as though her name that had scrawled in his mind in permanent marker and he could never erase it.   
  
  
  


_I want you and you are not here. I pause_   
_in this garden, breathing the colour thought is_   
_before language into still air._

  
  
  


He loved to write. It was something that he never shared with anyone, something that no one knew he enjoyed doing. It didn't fit in with his image at Chilton, so he hid it. But if he was ever tempted to tell anyone about his love for poetry, it would be Rory. He knew how much she loved to read, and he knew that she'd appreciate his writing. Besides, the look of shock on her face if he did tell her would be worth it.   
  
  


_I want you and you are not here. I pause_   
_in this garden, breathing the colour thought is_   
_before language into still air. Even your name_   
_is a pale ghost and, though I exhale it again_   
_and again, it will not stay with me._

  
  
  


It was a weird feeling for him; fighting for something he wanted. He never had to work for anything in his life, least of all female attention. Everything had come easy for him... except when it came to her. It figured that the one thing he ever really wanted, ever really needed, he couldn't have. Fate was unkind that way.... or maybe Fate _was_ kind; he didn't deserve her.   
  
  
  


_I want you and you are not here. I pause_   
_in this garden, breathing the colour thought is_   
_before language into still air. Even your name_   
_is a pale ghost and, though I exhale it again_   
_and again, it will not stay with me. Tonight_   
_I make you up, imagine you, your movements clearer_   
_than the words I have you say you said before._

  
  
  


So, she was only with him in his mind. That was the only way he could have her by his side, hear her voice whispering intimately in his ear, revel in the joy of her laughter, see her cerulean eyes sparkle. The Rory he had with him was a figment of his imagination, an extension of the real Rory, whom he could only dream of having.   
  
  
  


_Wherever you are now, inside my head you fix me_   
_with a look , standing here whilst the cool late light_   
_dissolves into the earth._

  
  
  


There were times when he would almost go up to her, wanting to share something before belatedly realizing that he didn't have that kind of closeness with her, that what he was thinking about had only occurred in his imagination. It was difficult to swallow the fact they were, in reality, so far apart from each other. Miles away... not just physically, but most importantly, emotionally. There was nothing between them; he had no claim on her and she wanted nothing to do with him.   
  
  
  


_Wherever you are now, inside my head you fix me_   
_with a look, standing here whilst the cool late light_   
_dissolves into the earth. I have got your mouth wrong,_   
_but still it smiles._

  
  
  


Recalling from memory, an involuntary smile curled his lips as he remembered her own sweet smile. He loved her smile, but he didn't see it often enough... and he never did see it beamed just for him. There was no reason for her to smile at him, after all. All he did was frustrate her, exasperate her, annoy her and throw lewd comments. Ever since he had consciously made a decision to keep away from her, it seemed like she smiled more. So he held on to that pleasure of watching from afar the way her entire face would light up with a glow that only she could have.   
  
  


_Wherever you are now, inside my head you fix me_   
_with a look, standing here whilst the cool late light_   
_dissolves into the earth. I have got your mouth wrong,_   
_but still it smiles. I hold you closer, miles away,_   
_inventing love, until the calls of nightjars_   
_interrupt and turn what was to come, was certain,_   
_into memory._

  
  
  


Memories was all he had of her. The memory of first seeing her at Chilton and that feeling in his gut that told him that she was special. The memory of her blaring eyes every single time he called her "Mary" and the wonder at how beautiful and alive she looked. The memory of the twisted feeling that overtook his heart when she was in Dean's arms, looking lovingly in his eyes and wanting so much for that to have been him. The memory of their first, and only, kiss and how right it seemed and the sense of completion that overwhelmed him.   
  
  
  


_Wherever you are now, inside my head you fix me_   
_with a look, standing here whilst the cool late light_   
_dissolves into the earth. I have got your mouth wrong,_   
_but still it smiles. I hold you closer, miles away,_   
_inventing love, until the calls of nightjars_   
_interrupt and turn what was to come, was certain,_   
_into memory. The stars are filming us for no one._

  
  
  


_Inventing love_. That was what he did every night. Inventing a past between them that didn't happen, inventing a present that couldn't happen and inventing a future that wouldn't happen. That was probably all he would ever have. 

With a flourish, he titled the poem "Miles Away." It was apt. He smiled; a melancholy, resigned smile that one wouldn't associate with Tristan DuGrey. With a heavy sigh, he closed the book, laying on his back once again. 

***** 

The next morning, before he left for school, he tore out a page from his notebook on a whim. 

***** 

Rory Gilmore was pulling out her History book from her locker when a folded piece of notebook paper fluttered to the ground. Wondering what it was, she picked up it.   
  
  
  


_Miles Away_

_I want you and you are not here. I pause_   
_in this garden, breathing the colour thought is_   
_before language into still air. Even your name_   
_is a pale ghost and, though I exhale it again_   
_and again, it will not stay with me. Tonight_   
_I make you up, imagine you, your movements clearer_   
_than the words I have you say you said before._

_Wherever you are now, inside my head you fix me_   
_with a look, standing here whilst the cool late light_   
_dissolves into the earth. I have got your mouth wrong,_   
_but still it smiles. I hold you closer, miles away,_   
_inventing love, until the calls of nightjars_   
_interrupt and turn what was to come, was certain,_   
_into memory. The stars are filming us for no one._

  
  
  


It was a beautiful poem, but there was nothing else on it. No name. No little message. The only reason she knew that it was meant for her was the hastily scribbled 'Rory' that was written at the top of the page. She didn't recognize the handwriting and there was no way she could find out who it was from, unless the person came up to her. Her brow wrinkled in confusion as she tried to figure out what this all meant. She looked around the crowded hallway, looking for any sign of whoever it was who had left her the poem. 

As she looked around the hallway, she caught sight of Tristan leaning casually against a row of lockers with his usual grin in place, surrounded by the group of girls she had termed the "Tristan Fanclub". 

'_Whoever wrote this, it could never be Tristan DuGrey_,' she thought, distaste etched on her face as she watched the nauseating display of shameless flirting before her. 

Placing the piece of paper in her own notebook, she slammed her locker shut and went on her way to her next class. 

Had she looked hard enough, she would have caught the look of hope, then one of disappointment that momentarily flared in Tristan's eyes. 

***** 

Credit: The poem used in the story is one of my favourites. It's "Miles Away" by Carol Ann Duffy. 


End file.
